What Bloody Man is This? Or Athaisce
by streakie257
Summary: Written from an original character's point of view as a class assignment. Hell hath no fury like a woman's scorn. Complete.


What Bloody Man is This? Or Athaisce

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Disclaimer: D'oh! Not Homer. Not an owner.

Summary: Alturnative POV of the Odyssey, from an original character's eyes. Hell hath no fury like a woman's scorn.

A/N: This was an assign ment for my Lit class, I got a 100 percent and was told to submit to Scratch Pad, our wonderful writing mag at school. I forgot, so I've posted here. I like writing this. Athaisce means treasure in Latin, I'm pretty sure.

* * *

Cold calculated eyes flashing like the blade at her pale column the last words of the power seeker before the icy blood was spilt;

"This was the unkindest cut of all." The edge was sharp, bringing death cold and silent, quickly. Only moments before the body emptied ice water blood on to the floor stones, forming an ominous halo around the dark head of the suitor.

The maid stood shocked for a silent second staring at her work. It was her hand that had done the deed.

"Sashenka!" Looking up the murderous maid's eyes met the prodigy son's. He was standing in the door way, ruffled from the fray, confusion playing on his face. "What have you done?" Stepping over the body and blood Telemachus took the knife from her and searched her face with the same piercing look of his father. Silence before the answer.

* * *

Dark hair lay in small drifts around the feet of the woman looking in the glass. Steely eyes glared determinately into the mirror as a thin wrested hand brought sheers to a braid of hair that was suspended by the other hand. The snap of the scissors was dimmed as it bit through the hair but eventually that braid fell as well. Setting aside the sheers the eyes observed the handy work as the thin hands raked through what was left of the dark mane. There, she was now he. If a man like Euriceus could apply for Penelope's hand, so could she. She was ten full better than Euriceus. A smile materialized slowly and wickedly on he thin lips. She would win Penelope's hand and the crown that came with it. Then once king dear Penny could befall an accident. So could her son, although bitterness would not allow her to think the name she delighted in envisioning what she could do with new found power. Only she could rule, one ruler, one all encompassing power. Ithaca only needed one person – her.

Her hair now short, she undressed. Before replacing her gown with her father's tunic, she looked at herself. As long as no one asked for formal definition of what makes a man she would be fine. Years of brother's play had given her muscle, being small it had turned her from a life of curves and desire to a stick. It would be easy to be a young man.

She did not hold the previous owner of the tunic in high regard, but he was dead, and the cloth fit well. Again she looked at herself – himself.

"Athaisce, no longer I am. Rosier, I shall be." Her father had spent the savings, drinking himself to a grave, her brothers had died in the war, He had refused her for not being delicate and pretty, for being relation to the people she was as well. Honor and money were both running low. Athaisce knew her life could've been more, if her brothers lived, if her father was different, if He had accepted her, but none of that was, except for that desire for more.

* * *

"And who are you?" Athaisce eyed her competition, this one was big, but he would fall. She would be victorious – have the crown, her revenge on Him, oh the power (s)he felt…

"Rosier, my name is Rosier. I am here for fair Penelope." The man laughed, he was joined by more laughing competition. Seething anger Rosier pushed thorough the group. "Every dog had his day and yours will soon be over!" (s)he spat and took a place in the great hall. Grey eyed Athaisce observed the scene. Men! Fat, drunk, and stupid were everywhere; their behavior did not recommend them well to women. Athaisce's advantage, she knew a woman's heart and that would win her Penelope. Amour with another woman, especially His mother wasn't high on her desire list, but the crown was, one led to the other so Athaisce was ready to do it all for the jewels.

Day after day Athaisce stood aloof watching the throng, waiting, calculating. She would take the crown. Focusing on it was the force that kept her at the house. Penelope and Him were always respected by 'Rosier', even though Athaisce had several thoughts about what she would like to do to each, she kept herself in check. The same could not be said for the other suitors. Athaisce never chased the maids for sex. The core of every action was for the power. Lust was in her heart but it wasn't for body but for kingdom – and it was more potent.

On and on days and years marched. Athaisce waited patiently, she did not grow complacent, she remained focused. The prize was too important.

Eventually Penelope was ready to choose a king. Rosier was ready, more than ready. The great bow proved to be impossible, but Athrice didn't worry the crown would be hers.

* * *

The old beggar strung the bow and Athaisce felt instinct kick in. Blood would be spilled by arrow, and soon. Athaisce began moving far away. Her choice was quick and behind a table she dove, wedged between wall and wood out of sight. Hiding would be short lived but Athrice made the most of it. Quick as her fingers would allow she rearranged her tunic; she tried to look famine once again. Short time later rough hands pulled her from her place.

"Oh please!" she threw herself on the master's shoes, "I am just a maid!" Odysseus gave a could question,

"What are you doing here? The women retired."

"I don't remember" she sobbed "I rejected a… a… I don't know!" Crocodile tears worked on the great hero, and she was safe, escorted out by the man himself. Athrice dried her lying eyes and began to run. A dead king held no power; she needed to live for another day.

"Rosier!" Athaisce shouldn't have turned around but for years she had. And, she did. Sashenka the maid was there, then she was not, but her presents was replaced by cold steel. Could calculated eyes flashing like the blade at her column…

* * *

Telemachus looked at Sashenka as she told him what she knew, he was surprised not only by her actions but by his gratitude for them. He was beginning to worry about this vindictive strike in him. Slowly he looked at the dead body lying emptied on his floor. From the back the body looked like one of his mother's many suitors. Slowly Telemachus turned the body over; it was one of the suitors, Rosier. Telemachus wondered how he managed to escape. Sashenka offered all she knew.

"The master ushered him out personally, a maid was mentioned." Telemachus thought looking the dead over again, the tunic was arranged in a more female way, and then he felt something on the chest… removing the tunic and finding breasts was more of a shock than the word could convey. Telemachus stared in surprise, he didn't comprehend.

"This is a woman!" he exclaimed, "A woman sought my mother!" Eventually he was able to draw away his eyes from the sight. Instead he caged at the face, there was something familiar. To confirm his suspicions he lifted the tunic to look at her left leg, a birth mark like spilled whine. Dropping the cloth he felt his jaw slack – it was Her! Athaisce! Telemachus ran a hand through his hair and exhaled.

* * *

"And what ensnares our young philosopher tonight? What holds such a mind?" The familiar alto inquired from behind him. He turned on his skin giving the speaker room to sit by his side. The alto did and he reveled in a mixture of her presents and their silence. She posed her question, but let him formulate his answer without pressure. He appreciated that about her, and in time he spoke,

"I miss my father Atty." She gently touched his shoulder.

"I understand." It was a simple gesture, but not lost on him. She did understand, her brothers were along with his father.

"He should be home by now."

"Tele! Helen just came to Menelaus yesterday, you cannot expect everyone back instantly, be patient." Telemachus turned to look at his friend. They had really only became friends after her brothers had left them alone. The only parts of childhood left.

"You are right Atty, you are right." Athaisce gave him a smile; those were rare given her current home state. Sitting under the stars with Athaisce he felt safe. He shouldn't feel safe – not because of her, he was a prince and the great Odysseus's son he provided the strength. Yet beside her on the skin he knew that any support he was feeling was her doing.

* * *

"Atty!" Telemachus called looking around their spot. His mother had instructed him to find her; she had been gone too long. "Atty!" walking over a small hill he found her sitting in the surf. She was shaking.

"Athaisce!" he exclaimed rushing to join her, to find out what affected her thus.

"They're dead Telemachus." She said.

"Who – who is dead?" he asked voice cracking from mixed emotions.

"All of them! Hades took them all!" she began to cry anew. Letting her sob on him Telemachus understood who 'they' were. She had lost her brothers. Tears welled in his eyes as well, not only did he feel for her loss of her relatives, but for himself and his many happy memories of the siblings.

* * *

He had kissed her and zounds it had felt right. But it couldn't be. Telemachus couldn't get involved with anyone. Not with suitors at his door bringing troubles beyond compare and still nothing from his father.

"No!" he exclaimed all though it broke something inside of him to do so.

"What Tele?" Athaisce asked looking better than before he had kissed her.

"It cannot be! We – no." He said warmth disappeared from her.

"Why?"

"Athaisce I do love you, but it is just you and your mother surviving on others, you have nothing to recommend you. You aren't even built for a harem. Against my better judgment is all this but we can only remain light friends, I'm afraid we can't even remain in each others confidences…" he said, it didn't express properly his motives but his silver tongue had turned to clay. Athaisce stood, her face had completely changed, if it wasn't for emotion he wouldn't have recognized her at all.

"Please, Atty, go before I – just go." He pleaded.

"Before I do, let me say this, let me ask, if I was a princess with power would I entice another kiss?" He couldn't look at her but nodded. "If I was amazingly beautiful and lush would you forget for a while?" another mournful nod. "Do you love me?" Telemachus looked at her, eyes glossy.

"Yes, I do Athaisce, I do. But –" She held up a hand to stop him.

"I think I see everything clearly. Good bye Telemachus." And with that she walked away from their spot. Not once did she even indicate the thought of turning around. Telemachus watched her until he could no longer see her. Damning the suitors once again for another happiness they had destroyed he closed his eyes and swallowed his bitterness.

* * *

Looking up from the mark, memories no longer dancing in his head he composed his sadness and addressed the maid.

"You may go. I will take care of the body, have someone dispose of the evidence, my mother cannot see this." Carefully he picked up his long time playmate and lover and carried her out.

When Odysseus found him he was stroking what was left of her hair as she lay atop the funeral pyre. He placed a hand on his son's shoulder.

"I do not understand, but I shall let you explain." Telemachus took a deep breath before lighting the wood. Stepping back he saw everything ignite. Not just the wood, not just the body, but the woman, his memories, and a rather large part of him.

"Father, this was Athaisce." He said. Odysseus nodded, he had remembered the birth. "I loved her once." The son continued. "But nothing is forever." On the breeze Telemachus was sure he heard her laughter, in the fire he saw her smile.

"_Good – bye Telemachus."_


End file.
